


moonlight

by kiyala



Category: Brick (2005)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after the events of Brick. Brendan is still shaking things up, with the help of Brain, who wants to do more than just op from afar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bottomfeeder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bottomfeeder/gifts).



> Helloooo dearest Bottomfeeder! :D This is the first time I've ever participated in Yuletide and I want to thank you for this lovely opportunity to write about these two. I really hope I did them justice and I hope you like it! Happy Yuletide ♥

It’s late. The moon is a glowing scarred ball of light hanging near the horizon like even it doesn’t have the energy to hold itself up. The pale light shines through the blinds, falling all over the wall and the floor like it’s been cut up into pieces.

Brain’s at his desk, his glasses off, his lamp on. Like he’s got his own little island of light, of something resembling sanity.

In the other room, he can hear Brendan pacing in the dark.

It’s been six years since they put Emily Kostich into the ground. Six years, give or take a few hours, a solemn speech, a local newspaper reporter asking questions that Brendan couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer.

Six years don’t feel like long, until you start counting them.

The only real thing that has changed in that time, Brain thinks, is Brendan. Even that isn’t so much of a change as it is a natural progression. Brain can trace it all the way back to high school, to the days after Emily went missing. In some ways, it’s the same Brendan who wouldn’t sleep, who would follow leads like a hunting dog, bleed if he had to, if it would get him the answers he wanted.

The main difference is that back then, there was little chance of coming out clean. Now, there’s little chance of coming out alive.

It all started with Emily Kostich. Brain knows that; he’s pretty sure Brendan knows it too. Emily’s the reason they ever did their first op with Jer. Emily was the reason Brendan took on The Pin and won.

Emily’s the reason Brendan doesn’t sleep now; Emily’s the reason Brendan spends almost all of his time following obscure clues, taking cases that the cops won’t, the stories with too much speculation and not enough hard evidence for the cops to do anything with.

But Brendan’s always been good at shaking things up and seeing what falls on his head. Over time, he’s gotten pretty decent at making sure it doesn’t hit him on its way down. He might have started doing this _because_ of Emily, but it’s not about her any more. Brendan does it because he can. Because it’s something he’s good at.

Brain’s here because that’s just what Brain does. Brendan has an idea, Brain starts thinking of ways he can help. It’s a knee-jerk response now. Brendan comes home, bleeding from his mouth, his forehead, his knuckles. Brain throws him the ice pack and settles down for a new case. They’ve been sharing an apartment since college and Brain isn’t quite sure when it stopped being an apartment and started being an office; he doesn’t think they even bothered making that distinction in the first place. He can’t say he’s surprised.

The thing is, Brendan shares space with him, shares cases and ideas and yeah, sometimes spit, but he doesn’t share his work. He gets Brain to op from afar, keeping him as removed as possible. Brain doesn’t like it.

They fight about it sometimes. Quiet arguments that peter out into long silences. Brendan’s stubborn, but Brain knows how he works. Brendan’s stubborn, but Brain is worse. That’s how he’s still around. They both know it. In the end, Brain will wear Brendan down. He’ll get what he wants.

«·»

“I’m going out. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

The sun’s up. Brain’s back and shoulders are stiff from where he fell asleep at his desk. His lamp’s still turned on. He turns it off.

“I want in.”

Brendan gives him a look that says, _not now_. “You’re already in.”

“I want to be out there,” Brain tells him. “Shaking things up. Not following people around, hacking my way into their call histories.”

“You bleed less this way.”

“Well then let me bleed a little.” Brain isn’t afraid of putting himself in danger for what he believes in. The dog tags around his neck remind him there are people who have done more than just that.

Brendan shakes his head, a miniscule movement that Brain only catches from familiarity. “We’re not talking about this. I need you to look through Mrs. Bennett’s call history. From about a week ago. The day her daughter went missing.”

“What am I looking for?”

“You’ll know when you find it.” Brendan says and with that, he’s gone.

Most of their cases are based around people that are either missing or dead. Or one, until they end up being the other. It’s like an obsession for Brendan. And a talent. Though Brain supposes that he can’t really talk. After all, he’s still here.

He’s here because he needs Brendan. Because Brendan's the only one who ever made him feel like he even existed, back when he was in high school, when he had two tags on a chain instead of a father, and a mother who couldn't bear looking at him half the time because he reminded her of what she'd lost. Because Brendan needs him. Because Brendan’s surrounded himself with nothing but case after case, his life getting darker and darker until Brain’s the only light left.

Brain thinks he knows what it must feel like to be the moon, pushing its light through whatever small gaps it can find. A scattered mess in a dark room, pale and ineffectual and still better than nothing.

He does his research, pulls those phone records and gets the information Brendan’s looking for. He doesn’t leave it out for Brendan. There’s a file in his drawer, for the information he keeps to himself. The information he’ll use later.

Brain pulls the blinds up, opens the window, and lets the light in. He makes something to eat and decides to call it lunch, because he already knows he’s not going to bother eating later.

Brendan comes home when the sun is setting, and his glasses are in his pocket. Brain gets the ice pack out and wordlessly presses it to Brendan’s temple. Brendan sighs, putting his glasses back on. He lifts his hand to keep the ice pack pressed to his bruised and bloody skin, but Brain doesn’t move his away.

They stand there for a moment, Brendan leaning back against the kitchen counter, not quite holding hands.

Brain says, “I want in.” He means, _one last chance before I do this on my own_.

“I know,” Brendan murmurs. His gaze drops down to Brain’s collarbone, to the gap between his buttons where the dog tags show. He puts the ice pack down on the counter behind him and pulls Brain closer. “I know you do.”

When they kiss, it tastes like Brendan’s blood.

It’s not like Brain’s a stranger to it.


End file.
